


we cannibalize what we love

by winterbones



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterbones/pseuds/winterbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they say a wolf will stalk its prey for miles, and there has always been something of the beast in the Pan (please don't go i'll eat you up i love you <i>so</i>)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <span class="small">sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1014879/chapters/2015371/">like something hungry</a> | <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1021310/">in the absence of her</a></span></p>
            </blockquote>





	we cannibalize what we love

we've heard you were a victim,  
stop crouching in the shadows, chewing your hair.  
  
you can be graceful, not like a ballerina,  
like a hedge of coral  
  
built up and eaten and worn down  
yet alive, carving the rhythms of the sea.  
  
you can be a threshing sledge,  
new and sharp with many teeth  
\-- _okay ophelia_ , jeannine hall gailey

 

 

 

The Pan allowed her to run, but never very far. Just enough so Wendy felt the mockery of freedom, fingers tangling in her matted hair. Never close enough to John and Michael, dangling like bait on a hook just beyond her reach.

The Pan caught her about her waist, swung her in arc, sent her spinning like a top in the opposite direction.

“Keep running, Wendy,” he said. He loved the chase.

And she shouldn’t. Shouldn’t run. But she did, every time. Wendy was beginning to worry she was starting to like the chase as well.

 

 

 

 

 

The shadow returned for her brothers—of course it did. Baelfire’s sacrifice was forgotten in the way of the Pan’s insatiability. Wendy knew it too, felt his hunger prowling in her chest like a caged beast. She spent nights perched on the windowsill, warding off shadows.

Her mother was alarmed, accrediting it to Baelfire’s disappearance. _A street urchin_ , her father had sniffed, _it’s no surprise he took off. It’s a wonder he didn’t take the silver_. She was shuffled out of the nursery, and into her own room. It didn’t help and in the dead of the night, she crept back into the nursery and crawled into bed with Michael or John to keep vigil.

The rare nights she made herself lay still beneath the canopy of her bed, the memories sprung up in her mind like stubborn weeds. She couldn’t convince herself that Neverland wasn’t some horrible, nightmarish dream. She remembered _hot, tangling mouths_ and the feel of his naked flesh on her hair, the press of his fingers into her thighs. They throbbed inside her like a wide, gaping wound. Wendy worried she would die of blood loss. Her hand would lay flush against her thigh, her palm hot and sweaty, her fingers cramping with the need to travel higher. She would never let it, battling the urges back like she battled back the memories. Wendy no longer saw magic as she had once had, ethereal and wonderful, but she wished there was some spell that would take her memories of Neverland and lock them away tight, burying them in some unreachable part of her—a pirate’s treasure never meant to be found, not for a hundred more years.

She was dozing beside John, one arm curled protectively around him, her knees pressed into the small of his back. Her muslin nightgown was stiff against her arms, and she shivered as the cool night breeze came in from the window her mother forgot to close. The breeze ruffled the hem of her dress against her ankles, like a kiss, and Wendy jolted awake, gasping. Something cold closed around her fist and squeezed.

The shadow yanked at John, Michael already slung over a shadow.

 _He didn’t want me_ , she had whispered once to Baelfire. It was true. The shade spared her not a glance, dragging a groggily waking John up by his arm.

“No,” she screeched and closed both arms around his waist. Clinging, refusing to relent. Her toes kicked at empty air. Up, up and away just like the last time, only this time she was and so was John.

“Mother!” Wendy sobbed, fingers digging into the rending fabric of John’s sleep shift. Above them, Michael was awakening with pained mewling sounds. “ _Mother_ , please!”

Heavy, thudding footsteps sounded from the stairs. Her father, she knew by the weight, and her mother swiftly behind. The door to the nursery flew open, but Wendy and her brothers were already out the window.

 

 

 

 

 

This time, though, the Shadow eased them gently to the ground, no unceremonious drop. Wendy kept John tucked under one arm, Michael under the other, as the Shadow placed them on their feet. The Neverland jungle teemed with the sounds of life just as she remembered—had it really only been a year? The cicadas hummed low as the Shadow dispersed, only a trail of cool air as proof of him.

Michael clutched her nightgown, face pressed into her hip. John stood apart, angled in front of them, a miniature version of their father and Wendy felt the tears clogging the back of her throat, threatening to strangle her.

“I thought I told you I had no use for _girls_ ,” sneered the Pan from his perch on a low slung branch. He leapt to the ground, the earth not making a sound at his landing, as if it dare not. Wendy clutched Michael closer. She would have cracked open her ribs and hid him inside if she could have.

He was as she remembered—lanky, skeletal Pan with his perpetual malicious knife-grin, the look in his eyes flinty and dark.

John pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. “I demand you return us home this instant.” He emulated _father_ , with every brace of his foot, with every word—but his voice was a boy’s, his voice trembled in the wake of the power that poured off the Pan in waves.

“Hmm.” A bony finger tapped against his chin, just below his smirking mouth. “ _No_.”

Pan's closed fist cracked hard against the side of John’s face, and down her brother went in a tumble of limbs. Wendy stumbled forward to catch him, but she tripped over Michael and went face-first into the earth. Michael sobbed beneath her, and Wendy shifted her body over his, protecting him the way John had tried.

A hand curled into Michael’s hair, yanking upwards. He was pulled out from under Wendy and she screamed.

“No!” She came up with swinging arms. She would claw his eyes from his face, if that was what it took. “Don’t touch him! Don’t touch him!”

He dragged his free hand down Michael’s face, ignoring the boy’s thrashing, his lips twisted into a mocking sneer. The point was obvious. She had no power to stop him.

She took a step forward.

“Run, Wendy,” the Pan said. “ _Run_.” His fingers closed around Michael’s neck—a promise.

She did, slipping in wet grass, kicking up clumps of mud. She ran, felt the burn of the Pan’s dark eyes on her back. She ran, straight into the trees that reared up and closed around her, encasing her in their humidity and their marrow-deep magic.

Wendy ran, but only so she could come back.

 

 

 

 

 

Wendy plunged into the jungle, tripping in her haste, snagging her ankle on an upturned root. It made a hideous snapping sound and she feel into the dirt, sobbing. There was no cowardly pirate captain for her to stumble into, this time. There was only the mud between her fingers, gritty and thick.

She pushed herself to her feet, and hobbled the rest of the way. She wanted to turn around, and find her brothers; free them, save them, but that was a fool’s errand, and Wendy was no fool. They would be half-way back to the camp by now, and Peter Pan’s lost boys guarded him like ravenous wolves. They would eat her up the moment she arrived.

They called her mother once, but they were the rippling pools that reflected the Pan. They’d tear her to pieces, if that was his wish.

If she had a sword, though, or even a dagger. She’d go anyway, because it wouldn’t matter as long as she managed to plunge it into the Pan’s black, black heart.

Her ankle throbbed and she sat for a time curled up against the rough bark of a tree, humoring herself with the bloody image of the Pan at her feet, his heart thumping in her palm. The magic imbued in his never-aging veins might even keep him alive long enough to see her drop the vile organ to the ground and grind it into the dirt, where it belonged.

The bloodlust should have shocked her, appalled her. It did neither. It sustained her as a warm, sticky rain sluiced down her arms, plastering her nightgown to her body. When she became thirsty, she thrust a sodden clump of hair into her mouth and sucked the moisture dry.

She could feel the stagnant air of Neverland seeping into her bones, infused with the magic she had learned to free herself of.

The Pan never came after her, and she wondered if he had forgotten about her already. He’d only ever wanted her brothers, after all, and he had sent her away the first time with acidic hate dripping from his words.

She wouldn’t think of— _hot hands, the feel of him, the lean, corded muscles of his body pressed against hers, the hair on his legs, his mouth on her neck like he wanted to bite her._

Wendy slept.

 

 

 

 

 

In the grey morning light, Wendy hobbled her way to a crystalline lagoon, water lapping lazily against the rocky outcrop, bowed over it like a cradle. Once, Wendy had dreamed of blue lagoons with mermaids, tails glittering in the sunlight like melted diamonds and rubies and emeralds.

Now she only mustered enough energy to lower herself to the flattest rock, cheek to the smooth stone, and curled into a half-ball.

Water rippled below her, but Wendy could only stare blearily into the beady eyes of the mermaid. She was more fish than Wendy would have expected, not even all that beautiful; her cheeks were razor-sharp and hollowed, the fingers that rested on the top of the water webbed and slicked like a frog’s back. Her lips were bloodless and grey, pressed into a solemn line, not all like Wendy had imagined—girls crowned with seaweed and silvery laughter on their lips and wild colors for hair. This woman was muted, as dull as the grey morning.

The webbed fingers slipped upward, slimy like a toad’s. They danced at her wrist, caressing more boldly as Wendy did nothing to deter her. Those beady eyes glinted with hunger, and Wendy felt a dull knife of terror in her breast but it almost hurt too much to care.

The hand crept upward, over the dip in her elbow. Serpentine clumps of hair plastered to the mermaid’s breast as she eased herself out of the water. The webbed hand tugged, and Wendy was brought closer to the edge.

Would the mermaid drag her downward, into the murky depths? Wendy would have almost welcomed it but she remembered— _Michael and John_! She couldn’t leave them, not to this fate. She had to get them all home.

She jerked herself upward and back, but the mermaid followed her with a hiss, lips peeled back to reveal a row of pointed, white teeth. The webbed hand slapped against Wendy’s neck,  
claw-like nails digging in.

A hand closed over the mermaid’s neck, shoving. The Pan smelled like his jungle, hot, sticky rain at midnight. His cheek brushed against her hair as Wendy scrambled back. The Pan didn’t speak, one dark brow quirked. He made a low sound, a kind of half-growl, at the back of his throat as the mermaid thrashed back into the water.

The crystalline water rippled, the only noise between the sound of it lapping against the rock, and then the Pan was fastening his knife-sharp grin on her, fingers lifted and curling into her hair, pulling. Wendy yelped, her fists flying and falling uselessly off his shoulder.

“There you are,” the Pan said, dragging her closer.

“Let my brothers go!” she railed at him. “Let _me_ go.”

He did, and with a shove. Wendy fell backward, elbow jarring hard against the rock. Her knees lifted as she braced herself on her heels, and the Pan closed a palm over one, kneeling over her.

“Run, Wendy.” Wendy could almost feel his smile cut into her skin. His hand rolled down her muslin-clad knee and calf, with insulting familiarity. It was obvious he hadn’t forgotten the clearing, how he had kissed her like he wanted to swallow her whole.

And now he wanted to play.

“No!” She surged upward, catching him by surprise, and thrust her hands against his shoulders. There was enough momentum behind her push that he went backwards, into the lagoon, the mermaid shrieking as her pool was disturbed.

Now she scrambled to her feet, tripping and stumbled off the rock and onto soft, wet earth. She wasn’t going to play his game, selfish man-boy, monster of neverland, but she would run. She would run for herself.

She didn’t get very far.

The Pan caught her by her waist, using her speed against her, propelling her forward until she smacked against a tree. He came in swiftly behind her, caging her between the tree in his body. His hot breath ruffled the hair pressed to the back of her neck as he bunched the fabric at her hips, tugging and pulling. His laugh was brittle and coarse and made her shiver, pressing her hands to the rough bark of the tree.

“You should have run, Wendy.”

“I’m not going to do _anything_ you say,” she snarled at him, whipping her head to the side to glare at his form.

His open mouth swooped down on hers, teeth banging hard against her own. She cried out, but he took that as an invitation, pushing his tongue into her mouth, sliding against her gums and the inside of her cheeks.

No. Not again. She could feel the wetness already collecting between her thighs, the hot ache between her thighs that had haunted her dreams since leaving Neverland and the Pan.

“Wendy,” he breathed, pushing aside her sticky hair to mouth at her neck. It arched of its own accord, her breath coming out in swallow pants.

“Don’t—don’t— _please_.” But her mouth was already seeking his again, ravenous for his intoxicating taste. There was something wrong with her, something as twisted as the dark heart of this Neverland. Her nails bit into the tree bark as the Pan feasted on her neck, scrapping his teeth against the ridges. His hips pressed into hers, and she felt the ridge of his manhood, hot and hard against the swell of her bottom. She trembled like a leaf.

The only sounds were her panting gasps, and his grunts, as he pulled her nightgown up her hips, cool night air caressing her thighs. She rubbed themselves together in some desperate bid for release, and yelped when the Pan shoved a hand between them. His bony, long fingers stroked her saturated folds with inexpertise, but Wendy found herself grinding against the hand, desperate for the release she had only ever experienced with him, swallowing balls of hate that threatened to claw their ways up her throat and choke her.

“I—” The Pan grunted, snapping his hips up against hers. He was still clad in his coarse pants, and the scrapped against the delicate flesh on the inside of her thighs. A wild laugh, half-crazed. “I have missed _you_ , Wendy.”

She tried to laugh, but it was harsh and rusted, not a laugh at all. _Missed me? You sent me away_ —but then she couldn’t think at all. The Pan was slipping a finger inside her, rubbing her from the inside. Little sounds escaped her, mewls and whimpers, as the Pan explored and poked and prodded, stroking until sticky fluid rolled down her thighs. It wasn’t about her pleasure, not entirely; the Pan took a perverse pleasure in making her yearn for something that she didn’t want to want. Another game.

Blindly, Wendy pushed back up against him, head bowed, hair spilling over her arms. The Pan pulled away, rustling behind her, but was back within moments, this time his naked thighs pressed into her.

A gasp ripped through her at the burst of pain as the Pan pressed his manhood inside her. She hadn’t expected it, never told that it would hurt more than once. She stiffened in resistance, but the Pan would not relent—of course he would not relent. He rocked himself inside her, each small thrust bringing him deeper inside her. Wendy caught her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing the flesh until it ached. Her hands pressed flush against the tree, the bark scrapping into her palms.

When he was seated fully, throbbing hotly inside her, the pain abated and she was left gulping in hot mouthfuls of air. When the Pan started move she could only lower her forehead to the tree, fire igniting her nerves as he moved inside her. His thrusts were rough, erratic, her belly scrapping against the tree as she clung to it for dear life. Pleasure bloomed in her veins, but only sparks of it, her muscles too unused to being stretched as they clamped down around him. The Pan was undeterred, suckling her neck as he slammed his hips into hers.

He propped one lanky arm on the tree above her head, bowing over her, curling her into the cave of his body, and guiding her in a slick, rocking motion on his manhood. Wendy’s mewls became more pronounced, and she could not feel any shame for them. Sweat collected in the arched hollow of her back, overly hot, her ears filled with the sound of his flesh slapping into her own. Wendy could feel her ears burn, and the Pan could see the hot color of them, teeth closing over the tip of one ear.

Wendy’s eyes slithered closed as he stiffened behind her, lanky chest pressed flush against her back, fingers digging so deeply into her side she thought he would leave indents on her bones.

She said nothing as the Pan plucked from her the tree and dropped her to the wet earth, said nothing as he kneeled beside her. Weakly, she tried to elbow him but the Pan only laughed, hoarse and hard, against her sweat-matted hair. His fingers slipped between her legs and he patted her, more languidly this time, until her hisses became whimpers, until she bit down on his arm, the coppery taste of blood thick on her tongue, forcing her to swallow. The Pan only grunted at the violence, even as her teeth dug deeper, and slipped a finger inside her, stroking until the muscles in Wendy’s stomach coiled and snapped, her screams muffled against his bloodied flesh.

“I have missed you, Wendy,” the Pan said into her hair, laughing again.

Wendy’s elbow shot up and cracked into the underside of his jaw. He only laughed more, deep and rough, and kissed her until the blood in his mouth pooled into herself and she swallowed the tangy, metal taste of him.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. first off, a huge thank you to [angie](http://angelt626.tumblr.com/), who agreed to beta this without either bribery or torture i can only assume there is some ulterior motive behind this magnanimous gesture perhaps i will soon find myself in a special reader's digest edition entitled "worst typos were penned"
> 
> 2\. i cannot, and will not, stop
> 
> 3\. can we discuss have there is one other dark!pan x wendy smut fic other than mine do you not understand what a travesty this is? must i do everything myself?
> 
> 4\. the next part will likely be a while in coming as we are, alas, in november which means there are a number of term papers waiting for me to write because i have been pole-vaulting over them
> 
> 5\. i wonder what my professor will do when i turn in my ethnography of porn
> 
> 6\. who even allowed me?


End file.
